I Still Care For You
by A. Tenmeadows
Summary: Three years after Santana left Quinn's house with tears in her eyes and anguish in her heart, Quinn shows up on the University of Louisville campus with a guitar and a plan. Song by Ray LaMontagne. Santana/Quinn, 2-shot. Femslash. Don't like, don't read.
1. Bones Burned to Glass

**Hello, my darlings! Now, while I am currently working on the next chapter of ****To Burn, Pine, & Perish****, I've decided to give you all a little treat… A Quinntana two-shot! Yay! : )**

**The first chapter is written in Santana's point of view, the second in Quinn's. Enjoy!**

September 2011

I traced the red rhinestones on my key to my girlfriend's house as I climbed the concrete steps to her front door. The adhesive decal was in the shape of an 'S', and I couldn't help but smile to myself at the memory of the night she gave it to me.

_We'd gone to Breadsticks (for the third time that month, purely at my insistence) for a dinner date, and after our sweet elderly waitress set the bill down at the edge of the table, Quinn pulled a small navy blue gift box out of her fabric satchel. It was about the size of my palm, with a ruby red ribbon tied around it. The colors were obviously a poke at the contrast of our personalities, seeing as Quinn was demure but powerful, like the deep blue, and I was fiery and passionate, akin to the crimson._

"_Pull my ribbon," she'd smirked playfully before sending me a wink and taking my hand in hers (under the table, of course. If word got out that the two HBICs of McKinley were indeed an item, the entire social order would be upset)._

_I pulled the loose end of the ribbon and lifted the box's lid, never breaking contact with those breathtaking hazel eyes or that soft, soothing hand. I'll admit, I'd been expecting a ring, given the fact that Quinn was as old fashioned as they come ("The Ghost of Grace Kelly", as that snot-rag Jesse St. James had once called her), and it'd been almost four months… I was surprised she hadn't made some romantic gesture of fidelity already. But when I broke our tender gaze to glimpse the box's contents, the gift was more precious than any ring could have been. It was a silver Schlage key, with a small 'S' formed with tiny red stick-on jewels. It wasn't fidelity she was giving me. It was trust, something far harder to come by._

I put the key in the lock on Quinn's deep scarlet painted door (she liked to call it "The Door to Hell"), but found that it was already unlocked.

'_Of course she knew I was coming…_' I chuckled slightly and pushed it open, shutting it behind me and leaving my sneakers next to the door mat.

"Quinn?"

My call to her was met with nothing but silence. Ms. Fabray was at work, so Quinn had to be at home if she'd left the door unlocked. I saw her satchel on the brown leather sofa, and her Cheerios jacket draped haphazardly across the arm. She was definitely here.

I padded up the carpeted steps in my sock feet, and was greeted with the sight of clothing strewn about the hallway. I recognized Quinn's purple Anthropologie cardigan and her matching J. Crew patent leather flats. But another sight caught me completely off guard: a pair of jeans. Lucy Quinn Fabray only has two pairs of Aeropostale jeans, neither of which she had worn all week. Upon picking them up, I saw that these weren't in a size 'long' like hers. Someone else was here with Quinn. And judging by the number of garments in the corridor… she and her guest were naked.

Tears began to well in my eyes as my worst fears were confirmed; a light airy giggle came from behind the baby pink door to Quinn's room at the end of the hall. I smoothed out my Cheerios skirt and took a deep breath, my hands shaking as I grasped the brass knob.

The smell hit me before the visual confirmation did. I know what sex smells like… I've done it enough times to be able to construct a molecular copy to sell as a fragrance. And Quinn's room was bathed in it.

I stormed in and was caught between anger and defeat when I gazed into the terrified brown eyes of Rachel Berry. She stared up at me from her place amid Quinn's baby pink sheets, her face flushed with embarrassment. My soon-to-be ex girlfriend was lying on her side when I entered the room, her back to me while she traced small diamond patterns on the plane of Rachel's bare stomach… Just as she'd always done after we made love. I blinked back the tears that sprang up when I remembered my first time with Quinn. It had been beautiful, almost spiritual; I'd never connected with another human being that way before. A broken gasp ripped through me at the thought of that memory having to be locked away, along with the rest of my heart, never for Quinn to see again.

"What in the living hell…?"

Upon hearing my voice, Quinn hurriedly covered Rachel's body with the white duvet, and quickly threw on a Cheerios t-shirt and a pair of black running shorts to hide her own nude form. But in my eyes, the damage had already been done.

"Santana," Quinn whispered as she began to make her way toward me.

I didn't wait for her to say another word. I didn't need her apologies. I didn't need her excuses. I didn't need her. I pawed angrily at the tears that tracked down my cheeks; I would not let her see them. I would not let her see how much she hurt me.

"Fuck you, Quinn Fabray."

And with those words, I left her house, her heart, and for all intents and purposes… her life.


	2. Open Me, You'll Find

**Because you all have been so patient with me, I'm posting both chapters of ****I Still Care For You**** on the same day! Enjoy! : )**

**And remember, this chapter's in Quinn's point of view, so don't get confused!**

October 2014

I stepped off of the bus and into the damp Kentucky air in earnest. It was only a week ago that my old high school friend Brittany had called with her weekly dish on the ex-New Directions members and their current lives. Mike and Tina at Dartmouth, Puck in night classes at UCLA… even after high school, Brittany S. Pierce still got the scoop on everyone and everything. And, as it always did, the dialogue steered toward Santana.

"_She misses you, you know," Brittany said quietly into the receiver._

_I pinched the bridge of my nose and began lightly drumming my fingertips on the countertop in my dorm room kitchen. It was a nervous tick I'd always had… One Santana found particularly irritating. At this abrupt thought, I returned to the conversation._

"_Britt," I sighed, my heart breaking as I pictured the hurt that had swirled in Santana's beautiful eyes that day and every one since. "We've talked about this. I broke her heart. She doesn't want to see me."_

"_Q, come on. Everyone knows you guys were like 'yap and yip', or whatever that saying is with the symbols…"_

_I chuckled softly. It was good to know Brittany was still Brittany. "Ying and yang, Britt. And I agree. But after what I did to her, I don't even deserve her time."_

_A long pause fell between us for a moment before Brittany whispered again. "She still has the key you gave her."_

_My eyes flew open at that. My palms began to sweat, and I padded barefoot from the white linoleum in the kitchenette to the shag carpeting my roommate had put down in the living room. Plopping down on the hideous but comfortable flannel futon, I let a small smile play across my lips. There was hope._

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah," Brittany said proudly. "I saw it in her wallet when she paid for lunch during our last visit. She says she carries it in case she needs to slash someone's throat, but I know it's because it makes her feel closer to you."_

_That did it. I picked up Cyndi, my Alvarez acoustic guitar, from her stand next to the fireplace and laid her down in her hard case. I ran back to my room, my oversized Grateful Dead t-shirt swishing about my thighs. I haphazardly tossed my two pairs of jeans (something I hadn't changed since being with Santana because buying another pair just didn't seem right), my green high top Converses, 3 days worth of underwear, and two Yale Bulldog Athletics t-shirts into my canvas satchel._

"_Hey, Britt?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_What dorm is she staying in?"_

I honestly had no idea the University of Louisville campus was so big. The way Brittany had made it seem, you'd think she was talking about navigating my way through a shoebox. But, then again, I suppose Brittany does tend to have a warped sense of reality. And compared to New Haven, it's not so bad.

Santana hasn't spoken to me since the day she walked in on me with Rachel. Even after my accident, she just looked at me with sympathy, never uttering a word. It's been three years; I'm past the 'making excuses' stage. I did what I did, and I regret it with every fiber of my being. Santana was the rare red rose in the garden of daisies that was my life, and even then, I knew that I would be the one to be her knight in shining armor.

I ran my fingers through my shock of blonde hair nervously and adjusted my grip on my guitar case. Trekking through the maze of red brick structures and sidewalks, I took the small slip of paper I'd written the building name on out of the same fabric satchel I've used since high school. _Bettie Johnson Hall._ What Brittany had failed to tell me was that every damn edifice on campus had the same type of architecture. I took a deep breath, stuffed the paper back into my bag, and went on the hunt, praying all of this wasn't in vain.

**SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-**

After nearly an hour of looking, I was able to locate Santana's dorm. It blended in with all the other buildings, but according to Brittany, it was one of the nicest dormitories available at Louisville. I followed a group of girls inside, and began the climb up to the structures third floor. The steps were murder on my knees, a side effect of the stem cell surgeries in Amsterdam that let me walk down the streets of the world again. I was hoping to surprise Santana first by walking over to her, and second by telling her how I felt.

Brittany had told me that Santana lived in a one-bedroom suite, room number 302. I stared at the brass numbers on the red painted door, and laughed to myself at the irony. Everything we had began and ended with the color red. I glanced at my watch again. Four thirty. Brittany also mentioned that Santana had work-study until four o'clock, and she went on a two mile run at five. She'd be there.

My hand shook as I raised my fist to rap on the door, and as soon as I did, I set Cyndi's case down on the gray linoleum and opened it, sliding the crimson strap over my head to rest on my shoulder.

"Damn you, Carolina, I said we go tomorrow! Fucking –"

The door was replaced with her face almost instantaneously, and I marveled at how different she looked; different, but still somehow the same. Her hair was long and straight now, her eyes still as beautiful as the day I first saw them seven long years ago. Her body was covered by a white tank top and dark red shorts with a small image of the Kentucky cardinal on them. She was still in fantastic shape; apparently those daily two mile runs were working wonders for her. I wanted so badly just to drop the guitar and kiss her, just to see if she still tasted like cherries and devotion.

"Quinn…"

Her voice brought me out of my daze, and I could see that she was staring, not at my face, at my jean-clad legs. The legs that, years ago, had been sitting in a wheelchair. It seemed my first surprise was a success.

"How are you doing that?" she asked in amazement.

I snorted gently and smirked at her. "Well, I learned to do it a while back, and I thought I'd try it all by myself."

My witty retort jerked her back into her HBIC stance, arms crossed and leaning against the doorjamb. Her head tilted slightly, her hair falling off her shoulder to reveal an appetizing expanse of her neck…

"What the hell do you want, Fabray?"

She said it calmly, but I could tell her astonishment at my mobility had turned to the fury caused by my appearance in general. I decided I had to get right to the point, or run the risk of having her slam the door in my face. I slid my guitar pick out from between the strings of the neck, and slowly began to strum. Her eyes widened, and in that moment she knew what I was there to do. And before she could protest, I started to sing.

"_Hear me out; day follows day._

_Light turns to clay in my hands._"

I paused for a moment, but when Santana feigned reluctance and nodded, I grinned and continued.

"_How to explain, so pristine the pain;_

_It was kindness made the cut so clean._

_I still care for you."_

A lone tear tracked down Santana's face as she gave me the first genuine smile I'd seen from her in years. I'd almost forgotten how beautiful a sight it was, that smile.

"_Hear me out. You wanted me to be_

_Less your lover than a mirror._

_Can't you see what you mean to me?_

_Even promises may bleed._

_I still care for you._"

I'd barely gotten the last verse out before she closed the distance between us. I realized then just how much I had missed kissing her. Her lips were softer now, her fingers more tender as she weaved them into my hair. I pushed the neck of Cyndi down so that it hung at my ankle before reaching for her hips. I crashed her into me, the hunger for her that lay dormant for the past months finally arriving at its boiling point. But just as I went to deepen the kiss, she whimpered and pulled away.

"Santana," I pleaded as she rested her forehead against mine. I missed her so much, and I was desperate to reclaim her.

"Bring your shit inside, Fabray. I don't like my neighbors enough to give them a show," she grinned maliciously up at me.

I suppose that meant I was forgiven.

**SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-SQ-**

Our reconnection wasn't gentle.

It was teeth marking supple skin, fingers tugging at clothing, and erotic moans filling the air of her bedroom.

We fell onto her twin bed, her body pinned under mine just as it had been the first time. Her camisole was gone, and to my delight, no other garments kept me from the treasure of her upper body. I laid her against the University of Louisville pillow set, and nuzzled an already stiff nipple with my nose before lathing it with my tongue. Her breasts, perfect C-cups (after her 'summer surgery' back in high school), still tasted the same… like Disaronno and chocolate liqueur. I just wanted to drink all of her in, and judging by Santana's moans and the canting of her hips into mine, I don't think she would've minded.

Her hands were woven into my hair, her back arching into me as she begged for more. I kissed across her sternum to the neglected breast and awarded it the same treatment.

"Quinn," she gasped, her voice saturated with lust.

"Hmm?"

"Rachel might have liked being teased," she managed to force out between moans. "But you know I enjoy the main event more than the pre-game."

Ouch. That did sting. But I suppose I deserved it. I moved down her body to her stomach, dipping my tongue into her belly button before sliding her shorts down her flawless legs. I nipped along the top of her red lace thong, the heat between her thighs so intense I could feel it on my collarbone. After dragging her underwear off with my teeth, I tossed them aside and stared at her center, shaved and incredibly open for me. My mouth watered as I hooked my arms around her legs to settle her down. Finally, I licked a light stripe through the thoroughly lubricated folds of her apex, suckling the pulsating bud at the top of her sex.

Santana was always wild in bed, and true to form, her grip on my hair tightened, the bucking of her hips became erratic, and her moans turned to small screams. I smiled against her as I continued my work, parting, penetrating, and playing with her. Before long, her inner walls began to constrict around me, and I replaced my tongue with my fingers, keeping up the steady stimulation. I moved back up her body to press open-mouthed kisses to the spot just below her ear that I knew would drive her over the edge. But just to ensure that her orgasm rocked her body like a hurricane, I started talking.

"I love you so much," I husked into her skin, a thin layer of perspiration covering its surface. "I missed you more than words can say. I was so stupid to let Rachel come between us, Santana. I'm all yours. I always will be."

With one final roll of my fingers, my Latin beauty came undone in my arms, my name on her lips in short bursts as the world around her flashed white hot. Santana had never looked more beautiful than in the throes of climax; the way her eyes screwed shut, her body shivered, and her head tilted back against the pillows. Watching it happen was more arousing that she could ever know.

"Quinn," she whimpered, curling into me and resting her head against my chest.

"I'm right here, sweetheart. I'm here."

I pulled up her University of Louisville blanket and wrapped it around her nude body to ward off the cold before I pulled her closer.

"As soon as I can feel my limbs again, Fabray, you're going down."

I laughed gently before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "My dear Lopez, I believe it is you who'll be 'going down'."

She smiled against my collarbone at the corniness of the joke and snuggled further into my embrace.

"Oh, and Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"You do know Brittany told me you were coming, right?"

Of course.

**AN: Thus concluding the Double Update ****I Still Care For You**** Fanfiction Fiesta! I hope you all liked it, and as always, reviews are love! : )**


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